For those of us who occasionally find themselves daydreaming about the Parisian art scene of the 1920s, the best shot we have at catching a glimpse of it – time travel excluded – is by visiting museums and concert halls. In this regard, the latest run of performances at Berlin’s Philharmonie may just meet our needs: under the leadership of Juanjo Mena came an all-French programme featuring rarities by Gabriel Pierné and Germaine Tailleferre, alongside Ravel’s pastoral ballet Daphnis et Chloé. Together, the three pieces gave a taste of the musical fascinations of early 20th-century Paris, ranging from folk songs to myth-inspired sensuality.
If you have not heard of a play called Ramuntcho before, it is probably because it faded into near oblivion not too long after its 1908 premiere. Based on the novel by Pierre Loti, Ramuntcho tells a story of adventure, romance, and – most of all – Basque culture and customs. In fact, despite the staged version’s flash-in-the-pan success, it was Pierné’s incidental music which allowed it to survive thanks to an exuberant score which largely draws from Basque folklore. Mena’s whole-hearted rendition of the overture went along with Pierné’s vibrant orchestration, bringing out the sweeping motions of the strings and indulging in the solemn brass chorale of the central Andante. Even within its limited duration, Mena infused the performance with a theatrical zest which made for a pleasant opener.
Oblivion and prejudice also threatened the work of Germaine Tailleferre, whose musical education and career were often obstructed – in vain – by her father and two husbands. As the only female member of Les Six, her scores re-incorporate Classicist forms in light of an updated sense of harmony and timbre. For her Harp Concertino, Mena was joined by the Philharmoniker’s own harp virtuoso, Marie-Pierre Langlamet. The concise proportions of the piece increase rather than diminish its complexity, as the soloist is immediately in charge of an ever-moving torrent of sounds.
Langlamet dived into the flow with impressive versatility, thinning her timbre in swift semiquaver passages and thickening it in staccatos. Her harp’s soft-spoken, misty lyricism found its natural companion in Emmanuel Pahud’s flute; at the same time, less obvious combinations with others such as the clarinet or the brass, heightened the instrument’s singularity. A good example of the synergy between Langlamet and Mena was the fugue of the last movement, which started from the double basses and rapidly moved upward, involving orchestra and soloist in solid cohesion.
For the second half, Langlamet returned to the ranks of the Philharmoniker for Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé. This made quite the contrast to Tailleferre’s chamber-like Concertino, requiring the orchestra to perform in full force with additional chorus. And yet, the slow beginning of this symphonie chorégraphique seemed to seamlessly issue from the Tailleferre, and only in its grandiose crescendo did it depart from what came before. Most mesmerising were the moments when Mena let the score linger, its fluctuation evoking a restrained eroticism. Amid this suspended atmosphere, the audience could fully savour Ravel’s lush harmonies. More animated sections burst out with the bright, crisp sound of trumpets, and with solos from the flute, oboe, clarinet, and horn it was tempting to just sit back and let the lavish orchestration wash over oneself. This vaguely inebriated state was magnified by the Rundfunkchor Berlin, who sang the wordless choruses adding to the dynamic and harmonic texture of the performance.
